Damage Done
by dressagegrrrl
Summary: Damage done unintentionally can still change a life. Hermione tries to atone for a wrong she did to Severus Snape that stripped him of his magic. Post-war, EWE, AU. A slowly unfolding romance, h/c, friendship.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Hello! Here's my latest... an introspective story about what can come from guilt and friendship and respect, and how transformative the process of falling in love can be. This one will end up around 60,000 words. Rated M for language and some naughtiness (although nothing citrusy in this chapter.)**_

_**This chapter was alphaed by Aurette, but ages ago. (Hi, A!) Any spelling and grammar mistakes you see are mine.**_

_**It's good to be back with my SSHG peeps. :)**_

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Chapter One

The cottage sat tucked behind the main house, shrouded by a stand of poplar trees. It was visible if one knew to look for it, but Snape had ensured that it came equipped with a potent Notice-Me-Not charm to keep busybodies away. After decades working as a spy for an ungrateful populace, he was ready to slip into graceful anonymity in the Muggle world. No Boy-Who-Got-Lucky pounding on the door to ask pointed and painful questions about Lily. No Howlers from witches or wizards who'd never even lifted a wand to fight. No need to constantly rehash the past.

No. Here in his little Muggle cottage in the heart of the Cotswolds, blissful stillness cocooned him. Snape settled into his favorite reading chair in the library, enjoying the hiss of the leather sinking beneath his weight, and placed his tumbler of pumpkin juice on a coaster on his side table. In the grate, a wood fire popped and crackled. With a deep sigh of contentment, Snape opened his book and reached to take a sip of his drink.

He rolled it around his mouth before swallowing. It wasn't firewhisky, but it'd have to do. He was just about to dive into chapter one of a thoroughly un-edifying mystery novel when he heard a tap on the door.

"Sir?" he heard.

He sighed and ignored it.

Another rap sounded on his door. "Open up! My hands are full. I'm knocking with my boot."

He stood up, took a moment to catch his breath, and then walked to the door. Snape paused, hand curled over his stuttering, pounding heart as he waited for his heartbeat to settle. _Fucking Nagini_.

"Snape! I know you're in there."

"For god's sake, stop yammering. I'm coming, Granger."

He opened the door and saw her standing there, her hair writhing like a venomous tentacula in the wind. Her cheeks were ruddy from the cold air, and she held a large plate of biscuits covered in plastic wrap.

She smiled at him hopefully and jiggled the plate. "Can I come in? I brought you biscuits…" Her breath steamed in the frigid air.

"I don't really think that's necessary, do you? I'm perfectly capable of ingesting gingerbread by myself. Eating is one of the few things you said I could do on my own."

She huffed. "Come on, Snape. I'm freezing my tits off, it's so cold out here."

He stared at her, standing there on his doorstep with her horrid hair and hopeful eyes, and he thought _she's so young_. Then he tried to remember the last time someone other than Granger had made him biscuits—or done him any kindness really—and couldn't. So he stepped aside, ushering her in with a formal hand. "Please come in."

She swanned into the kitchen, juggling the plate between her hands as she shed layers. After throwing her red wool coat and nubby scarf over one of his chairs, she peeled off the plastic wrap and thrust the biscuits toward him.

"Here! They're still warm. Eat one."

They did smell good, like cinnamon and nutmeg and Christmas, and maybe if he ate one, she'd be happy and leave him in peace, instead of tromping around his house in her snow boots, disturbing his quiet. Sighing as if he were doing her a favor, he reached out and picked up a gingerbread bear by the ear.

"If you insist." He took a bite, rolling the piece of biscuit around his mouth. _Holy hell. _His eyelids drooped in pleasure. Ever so slightly cakey, the gingerbread gave beneath his crooked teeth, and spices rolled over his taste buds in a pleasurable wave.

"Well?" she asked him, her eyes shining.

"It's not terrible," he said after swallowing. He cleared his throat. "I'm not gagging on it or anything."

She laughed. "That's a relief."

Granger watched him, her mouth pursed, and Snape shifted in discomfort. He took a moment to study the carefully-piped green icing bow tie with white spots and the shiny, candy eyes. "I feel a bit guilty. I'm clearly eating a domesticated bear. He looks like he's on his way to his job as a loan officer at Gringotts."

"Then don't feel bad. If he works for a bank, he's probably done something to deserve having his head bitten off." Hermione turned away from him to place the biscuits on his worktop, and Snape allowed his mouth to curl into an amused smile.

"Probably," he said. "Can I offer you a cup of tea?

"I have to run and meet Victor in an hour, but I'd love a quick cuppa." She winked. "I also plan on eating some of your biscuits."

"How I hope that's a euphemism. Sit down." Snape gestured to the small table nestled in his bay window, and then moved to pick up the kettle from his cooker and fill it with water. He shoved it under the faucet, and as he listened to the round sound of the water sloshing in the belly, he worried at his magic like a sore tooth.

"Stop that," Granger said. "I can feel you do that, you know."

"Mind your business." He slipped the kettle onto the burner and turned up the heat.

"I'm your healer. It _is_ my business."

"Ah, ah, ah. Healer-_in-training_. Lofgren is my healer."

"And Lofgren is my mentor. I'm telling you that if you don't leave it alone, your magic might never recuperate. You don't poke and prod at a gaping wound, do you?" Her tone was prim.

Snape growled, "Gods, you're an insufferable know-it-all."

"That one lost its sting years ago, _Professor_."

He rolled his eyes, picked up the plate of gingerbread, and moved to sit with her at the table. He sighed with relief and took several deep breaths, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Granger watched him out of the corner of her eye.

"How are you feeling?" Her voice was business-like, but brittle, and Snape knew better.

He looked at her. "Stop that."

"Does the new medication seem to be steadying your… your heart at all?" Her eyes glossed over with what he suspected were tears.

"Granger, you've got to stop. It's enough. What you've done is enough." He hesitated for a moment before reaching out to cover her hand with his. "I'm getting better."

"Well, whatever I can do to help…" The words cracked in the back of her throat, and she blinked rapidly.

He sighed. "Please, Gra—Hermione. We don't need to go over this again. I'm alive. I'm getting better. You didn't know. You were just a child."

A tear spilled down her cheek. And then another.

Snape stood and walked toward the cooktop where the kettle was hissing. He'd prepare the tea and give her time to collect herself. He stretched the ritual out, carefully swirling hot water in the teapot to heat the translucent blue glass, before dumping it out into the sink. He poured in fresh hot water, and eased in a tea flower. It unfurled its petals one by one, blossoming and drowning all at once.

"It was unforgivable, what I did. I was so _sure_ Nagini was a mamba."

"You saw her for just a second at Godric's Hollow. And it's not like you had access to a Pensieve while you were on the run. It's an understandable mistake." He didn't turn around. He took his time, placing the teapot in the center of a tray with two china cups.

"And then I didn't trust you to have a back up plan. _You_, the premier Potions master in Scotland." It sounded as if she was still crying.

Snape turned and walked to the table. "Please, Hermione. Premier Potions master in the entire UK." The china clinked lightly as he set the tea service in front of her.

She hiccoughed and laughed for just a second. "Okay. In the entire UK. Maybe in all of Europe."

"That's more like it." He poured her a cup and handed it to her. Snape saw her shiver when their fingers brushed.

"I didn't bother to check your vitals. I thought I knew better than you. I poured that Blood Coagulant Potion down your throat, and immediately realized my mistake. I can't stop thinking about how you looked when you began to seize. How your breathing slowed. How your pulse faded. How your arms and legs… Well." She stuttered to a stop, sounding as if her throat had closed and choked off the words.

"If Nagini had been a mamba, you likely would have saved my life. I would have bled out before I made it to St. Mungos."

"Don't try to placate me. If Nagini had been a mamba, then you would have taken the steps necessary to counteract that venom. But she wasn't. She was a viper." She crossed her arms over her chest and stood up to pace in the small confines of his kitchen. "I read Healer Pelham's report you know. The coagulant turned your blood to jelly in your veins. I nearly killed you, Snape."

"Drink your tea, Granger." He sighed. "And come sit down. You're exhausting me." Snape didn't pick up his own cup. Instead, he gripped the edge of the table to hide his shaking hands.

She plopped in her chair, and together they stared out his window.

The view was nothing special, just the back of the main house—Hermione's house, but Snape loved it. He'd loved it right from the beginning, when he was too sick to do more than just sit and snooze for hours at a time. After decades in the dank hell of the dungeons, the windows of his old quarters offering nothing more than the darkness at the bottom of the lake and quick glimpses of bone white fish with lamp-like eyes, the sun that streamed in his kitchen windows was a benediction. He was so close to the world outside. He was _present_. Both of his masters were dead, and he was in the light, and he was _free. _In his first week home, he was a trembling wreck of a man, but he was _free_.

He was transformed.

"Hermione," he said and then stopped. "Hermione, did you know you were the only person to come back to the Shrieking Shack to look for me?" He took a nervous sip of his tea. "Everyone else left me for dead. I laid there for hours. If you hadn't come, I wouldn't have made it until St. Mungo's. My Stasis Spell was already flickering. I was dying."

She took a trembling breath and turned to look at him.

"And do you know how many people came to visit me in St. Mungo's? You. Just you. But you came every day after your classes."

She wiped her eyes on a serviette he'd intended for their tea.

"When I heard my home had been destroyed, and the Ministry had seized my Gringotts account, who gave me a place to live?"

"I did," she whispered.

"And who brought me Christmas biscuits that I do not hate at all?"

She smiled at last, and Snape breathed a sigh of relief, feeling a knot uncoil in his stomach as he saw the lines around her eyes ease.

"I cannot absolve you of making a mistake. But I can be grateful that you cared enough to make that mistake. If you hadn't, I would have died in a pool of my own worst memories." He felt the edges of his mouth curl in his best not-quite-a-smile.

Reaching forward, Hermione grabbed his right hand and pulled it to her lips. She placed one kiss in the center of his palm, and Snape felt the tips of his fingers catch the tears still leaking from the corners of her eyes. His world narrowed to the places they touched: their hands, his right knee and her left, her eyelashes and his fingers.

"Thank you." She pressed one more kiss to his palm, before letting go and standing up. Swiping at her eyes one more time, she picked up her scarf and wrapped it around her neck before sliding into her jacket. "Thank you for listening to me and letting me cry all over you."

"Let's not make a habit of it, Granger." He looked her up and down. "Run home and wash your face before you meet up with Mr. Krum. You look like you've been at a funeral."

"I'll be by later, all right?"

He nodded, but did not watch her leave. The door closed behind her, and Snape just sat at his kitchen table, his right hand curled in his lap. He ate a biscuit and drank his tea.

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_**A/N: Like it, love it, hate it, review it.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: No money made. I'm just playing in JK Rowling's sandbox. Loosely alphaed by Aurette ages ago, and all spelling and grammar mistakes are my own.  
**_

_**Bad language below, but no citrus.  
**_

_**Here we go: Chapter Two. **_

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Chapter Two

Snape lunged upright, clutching at his bucking, shuddering heart. His eyes darted around the reassuring mundanity of his bedroom. The nighttime sky painted the walls and furniture a bland blue grey, and he forced himself to slow his breathing and release the white-knuckled grip he had on his comforter.

Always the same dream. A blunt, wedge-shaped head with flat, golden eyes. Jaws opening wide, wider, impossibly, horribly wide. Wet, ivory fangs snapping forward with venom spraying from the tips. And then pain. Searing, burning, roiling red pain. Pain worse than the Cruciatus Curse. Worse than the searing of his Dark Mark. Worse than seeing Lily's eyes burning in the face of The-Boy-That-Should-Have-Been-His. It was unimaginable.

Snape flipped his legs over the edge of his bed and rested his elbows on his knees. He concentrated on the fist around his heart until he felt it start to ease. Seeking comfort, he lifted his head and stared out the window, his eyes searching for Hermione's familiar shape on the window shades across the garden.

Knowing she was there was usually enough. That she cared if he lived or died made a difference to him. And knowing that she'd most likely show up at his house obnoxiously early the next morning with guilt-laced baked goods in tow was usually enough to send him back to bed with a smile on his lips. If she weren't so twisted up in knots, he'd laugh in her face. The idea that his _salvation_ should feel the need to make reparations was ridiculous.

But tonight it didn't suffice. He was a quaking, jittery mass of nerves. He wanted to see her… to have proof that this wasn't a fever dream brought on by the poison pumped through his veins.

He stood and walked to the window, resting his forearm against the sash. There, the light in her bedroom flicked on. As if he'd Summoned her, she appeared in the window, pausing to glance toward his cottage for just an instant, before seating herself at her vanity to braid her hair.

Snape counted the strokes of her brush, imagining he could hear each gentle _swoosh _as the soft bristles swept through the locks of her hair, separating and untangling. By ten, he'd stopped feeling any discomfort. By twenty, he was fully absorbed in her ritual. By one hundred, she'd put the brush down, and Snape had forgotten everything but the dance of her fingers as she twisted and tamed her hair into a French braid, tying it off with an elastic.

Hermione stood and pulled off her sweater, exposing a blue silk camisole. Snape immediately pulled back from the window and turned away, blushing. He wasn't trying to fetishize the woman, despite his attraction to her. No, that would cheapen both of them.

She was his friend and his only link to both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. That was enough. He was content in that Limbo, but only as long as she was there… as long as she continued to care. Snape knew it wouldn't last forever, but he'd stay as long as it did. And when that link was gone, he'd venture out into the Muggle world and leave the Wizarding one behind for good. After all, he was a man reviled and as good as a Squib. What sort of place could he expect to carve for himself?

Content, he lay back down in his bed, shivering as he wrapped the cooled sheets around his body. His heart beat a calm, gentle rhythm. Stretching out on his belly, he pillowed his head on his arm and allowed the muscles of his back to relax, one by one. As Snape drifted off, he wondered how his life would have been different if he had met a different Muggleborn on the playground all those years ago.

* * *

By the time Hermione knocked on his door the next morning, Snape was already showered and dressed in his Potions master armor. His silver buttons shone and his frock coat was pristine. After Nagini, he'd taken to wearing Victorian collars that stood up nearly to his chin, protective plating to discourage gawkers.

When Granger saw him, she fell back a step, nearly falling from his front stoop. He steadied her with a hand and raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"It's always surprising to see you like that." She cleared her throat and stared at the line of buttons on his chest. "It's easy to forget sometimes that you were my teacher, and I've grown accustomed to seeing you in more casual clothing."

"Did you forget what today is? Appointments at the Ministry and St. Mungos?"

"No, of course not. It's just… cognitive dissonance to see my old Potions master living in my back garden. He's rather a different creature than Snape-the-tenant." Hermione fussed with a wicker basket she held slung over an arm.

"Not really," he said, trying not to think of silky blue camisoles.

"To me, then."

He pursed his lips. "Perhaps." Snape watched her worry at the checkered cloth thrown over the top of the basket. "Do you plan on coming inside, or are you selling something door-to-door?"

"Would you buy?" She gifted him with a quicksilver smile. The tension between them eased.

"Perhaps," he murmured, his voice suddenly warm. He stepped aside and waved her in. "Every second you dither delays breakfast, Granger."

"Oh? What is for breakfast, then?"

"I don't know for sure yet, but from the smell, I'm guessing cranberry scones?"

"Strong nose."

He shrugged and tapped his impressive beak, unashamed. "That should be on my grave marker. 'Here lies Snape. He had a strong nose.' It's just about the kindest manner in which I've heard anyone describe it."

"I'm sure they were just intimidated. Big hands, big nose, big…" She let that trail off and set the basket on the worktop.

"Stop your nonsense and plate up the scones." He peeled her out of her jacket and scarf and nudged her toward his cabinets.

"Yes, _Professor_."

He smirked and hung her jacket up on a hook by the door. It smelled of honeysuckle, tickling his nose, and his smirk grew into a genuine smile.

They drank British breakfast tea and ate a scone each in friendly silence. After wiping her mouth with a napkin, Hermione said, "Are you ready?"

Snape gestured to his frock coat. "As you see."

"Do you hate this so much then?"

"Of course I do." He stood and picked up her plate, stacking it on top of his. He shook the crumbs into the dustbin. "I detest going into Diagon Alley. I nearly choke on the hatred of people around me. Every step is a new game of roulette. What do you think will happen to me today? Will I be pinched, spat upon, groped, punched, verbally assaulted? Will some deluded witch propose to me? Will a Pure-Blood Supremacist try to hex me? Will I be mobbed today or shunned?" He deposited the plates in the sink with a loud clink. "I _hate_ it."

Hermione opened and then shut her mouth. Trying again, she asked, "Witches have proposed to you?"

Snape scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. "_Yes. Fucking_ Potter. Stupid, fucking Potter couldn't leave well enough alone."

The edge of Hermione's lips twitched. "Get any good ones?"

He eyed her. "None I'd consider."

"And why is that?" she asked, teasingly.

"Entirely insufficient trust funds." He spread his hands wide. "There needs to be a little gravy to live on after I off them, don't you think?"

The smile she gave Snape was gentle. "Shall we go then?"

"Gods, _please_. I just want to get this done."

She stepped next to him and said, "Come on. We can use my Floo."

* * *

"I'm sorry. Vault 9145527 is still in impound status." Percy Weasley didn't sound sorry at all.

"Why? It only took three years of studying the same six minutes worth of pensieved memories and the support of Harry-Bloody-Potter, but the Ministry declared me innocent _twelve months ago_. What is the hold up?"

"I'm not at liberty to divulge that information, Snape." The red-head's smile was smug.

Hermione growled, and Percy's grin faded. "Maybe you should think about bending the rules _just this once_." She leaned forward. "Why is _Mr. _Snape's vault still locked down by the Ministry?"

The clerk cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. He smoothed a stray wrinkle from his fussy green robes.

"Percy, don't make me mention this to your mother, or worse, your wife. Did you know that Penelope is my junior mediwitch intern?"

He cleared his throat. "She's mentioned it a time or two." Sighing at last, he leaned forward and placed his arms on his mahogany desk. "The official line is that Fudge acknowledges the debt we all owe Snape—Mr. Snape. However, he worries that over the course of Mr. Snape's duties as a spy, in order to maintain his cover, he might have had to hold or accumulate various Dark Objects that should be in Ministry hands for the safety of the general populace."

Snape gritted his teeth. "What's the unofficial line?"

Percy blinked. "He hates you, of course. I'd be very surprised if there's very much left in your vault when he's done."

"The complete Prince library is stored there. My mother's jewelry, as well."

"Probably not any longer." Percy's eyes glowed with ill-concealed pleasure.

Snape turned and walked out. He wanted to slam the door, but Hermione trailed too close behind him. "I'm not sure why I didn't expect this. Of _course_ it's not over. It'll _never_ be over."

"That bastard. That complete and utter bastard. This isn't the end, Snape. I'll talk to Harry. We'll put public pressure on Fudge to get him to release your vault," she said.

Whirling in his tracks, he shoved his finger in front of her face and hissed, "No. Don't you dare bring Potter into my business. I forbid it. It's humiliating enough having you as my champion. No more. _No more._"

Hermione's face drained of color, and she stepped back from him, pushing his hand away. Immediately, Snape felt a wash of overwhelming remorse pour through him, and he reached out to touch her shoulder. When she winced, he dropped his arm.

"I'm not trying to be your champion," she whispered. "I'm… I just want to be your friend. And I want to fix what I broke in you. That's all." Her eyes reddened, and he feared she was about to start crying.

He scrubbed his palm over his face. "Stop, just… stop. Just forget I said that." _I'm sorry_, danced at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't say it. The words choked him, making him feel as if he was drowning in a morass of Hermione's guilt.

She nodded, looking ridiculously grateful, and he felt even more impotent.

He wanted to shake her. Why was she so eager to shoulder his culpability? She'd done nothing but save him from death, from himself. He wanted her to flare and spark with life, with justified anger, with anything other than that wounded, guilty look. He bit his tongue and offered her his arm instead. Her hand wrapped around his bicep, and she rested her forehead against his shoulder for just an instant before sighing.

"On the count of three. One… Two… Three…"

* * *

Snape felt the tug of Side-Along Apparition.

He held his shoulders straight and his head high as they left the Apparition point and walked into the throng of people. People stopped and stared, faces twisted in fear or hatred, and he met their gazes with a mask of composure.

A soft susurration of cloth and a mumbled word.

Stopping abruptly, he threw his arm out in front of Hermione to halt her a step behind him, and then leaned back, allowing a vivid orange hex to whiz past his nose and splatter on the exterior brick wall of Flourish & Blotts. It left a blackened, smoking scorch mark.

Granger whirled, her hair bristling with magic, and threw a modified Protego up around them as a shield. "Who? Who did it?" she shouted.

The crowd was silent, frozen in the face of her anger.

Snape watched as a man with white-blond hair eased out of the crowd and into a side street. He said nothing, letting him go.

"Hermione, let's go. We've an appointment to keep."

"And just let them get away with it? I don't think so. _Nobody_ is leaving here until the Aurors cast _Priori Incantatem_ on their wands." She scanned the crowd with a gimlet eye.

"Let it go."

"What? Snape, no!"

"The caster has already left." He reached for her hand and pulled her along with him as he fled the crowd for St. Mungos. Their Protego shield shimmered and dissolved.

"You saw him?" she whispered.

"Yes, and I'd like to handle this my own way. No Aurors. No Potter. Will you let me do that?" He glanced over at her.

"Who was it?"

He hesitated, warring within himself. "My godson."

She bit her lip, but nodded. "All right. I'll back off. However, if you do not take care of it, I will."

Snape smiled at this spark of spirit. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

"Just so we're clear."

"As the nose on my face," he said dryly. He watched her fight to swallow a smile and squeezed her hand once before releasing it. "Come on. Healer Lofgren is awaiting us."

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_**A/N: Like it, love it, hate it, review it.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Alphaed by Aurette eons ago. I don't own anything you recognize. I'm just playing in JKR's well-developed and enticing world.**_

_**I don't have a set update schedule, but it will be at least two chapters a week. Hope that helps for those of you that have sent me PMs wondering.**_

_**Here we go, guys.**_

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**Chapter Three**

They walked through the hustle and bustle of Wizarding London. Witches and wizards in winter robes thronged the cobblestoned streets, buying presents for their loved ones for the holiday season. However, the season of peace on Earth and good will to men clearly didn't extend to cover Snape. People grabbed their robes so the edges wouldn't brush against him. They crossed the street to avoid him.

Snape was used to it, and as long as they didn't accost him, he nearly didn't care. Nearly. He slid a glance over to Hermione and couldn't help but feel gratified to see she looked furious and held her wand in a tight grip, her fingers bleeding white at the knuckles. "Bastards," she muttered.

He wondered if she was gearing up to hex someone.

Clearing his throat to draw her attention, he said, "Although you're usually working when I have my healer appointments, you've accompanied me enough times to know how people react to me. I can't help but wonder why you are so angry."

"Because I'm a sodding optimist, Snape. I convince myself every time that it's going to be better than last time… that people aren't as poor in spirit as I remember."

"Oh, Granger," he sighed. "You're such an idiot."

"They wouldn't recognize a hero if one bit them on the arse," she snarked, trudging along with her hands tucked in her armpits.

He laughed, causing several passers-by to look at them askance. "A charming idiot, though. We won't put that to the test if you don't mind. I don't fancy the idea of biting strangers." A witch picked up her child and scurried out of his way.

"He said he _doesn't_ bite strangers," Hermione shouted after her.

"Gryffindor," he sneered.

"Damn right."

The stairs to St. Mungos loomed before them, and Snape made it halfway before he had to stop to catch his breath. "That's pretty good," he said, panting. "Nearly all of the way from the Apparition point."

She smiled at him, and they entered the building.

* * *

The examination room was cold, and even in a world without fluorescent bulbs, the lights buzzed and flickered. Industrialized Lumos Charms needed refreshing every month or two, and it was clear to Snape that this particular chamber hadn't been attended to in far longer. It was a sterile, icy blue, made more surreal by Granger's color-saturated vibrancy. She wore a moss green jumper which fitted her beautifully, cupping her lush figure. Her hair curled as if she'd run her hands through it repeatedly. Her mouth was painted such a dark crimson, it appeared nearly purple. Her lips were wet-looking and parted, showing a tantalizing glimpse of her fucking perfect teeth.

Healer Lofgren tutted, diverting Snape's attention away from Hermione. "Well, you're responding to the new course of potions, but not as well as I'd hoped. I take it you are still experiencing arrhythmia and chest pain? Shortness of breath?"

"Yes, but to a lessened degree." Snape shifted his weight. The plastic covering the uncomfortable physician's bench squealed when he crossed one leg over the other, sticking to the skin exposed by the gown that was open down his back. He knew he was too thin, each bump of vertebrae showing stark and moon-pale down his spine. Granger was on the other side of the room and couldn't see his uncovered skin. Good.

Pursing his lips, Lofgren said, "I can't risk upping your dosage any further. You're already taking levels that put you at risk of toxemia and Graffen's Syndrome. With your magic at such a low ebb in your blood, there's nothing for the potions to bond to, and your body cannot metabolize any more."

"It's better than I expected when we first started treatment four years ago," Snape said. "I'm no longer a wreck of a man. Just a half a wreck." He gave Granger a crooked smile.

"Well, don't give up hope yet, Mr. Snape. There are several experimental potions which have shown promise…"

"No," he said, smile gone. "I will not be a lab rat for St. Mungo's. Don't think I'm not aware that Alberto Agnew – that hack – is your head researcher."

"Mr. Snape," Lofgren sputtered while Hermione choked, trying to suppress a laugh.

"How Agnew got awarded a potions Mastery is beyond me. I will not ingest anything that he's developed until it's been through rigorous testing." He pinned the healer with a glare and a sneer. "I _refuse_," he stated clearly to remove all doubt that he wouldn't cooperate.

"Yes, well…" Lofgren cleared his throat in discomfort. "Back to the check up then, shall we?"

Snape nodded.

"Then, if you could please attempt to levitate the feather on the stand." Healer Lofgren cast a series of diagnostic spells as Snape pulled his wand from his sleeve and turned to the small table several feet in front of him.

Concentrating fiercely on the _swish-and-flick_ motion, he murmured, "Wingardium Leviosa." Nothing. He took a deep breath and began again. "Win_gar_diumLev_ios_a_._" His magic lurked out of range. He could see it, breathe it, smell it, but every time he reached for it, his fingers coasted through mist.

"That's enough for now." Healer Lofgren studied the color patterns on his diagnostics which hovered in the air between them. They glowed a pale, sickly green shot through with streaks of cold yellow. He hmmmed, cocking his head. "I wonder… Your wand, if you please?"

Snape handed the ebony wand to the healer with reluctance. When the wand brushed the diagnostic spell, the color pattern immediately flushed a fire red so deep in places that it burned purple. Lofgren's craggy white eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Interesting," he murmured.

"Oh my," Hermione gasped. "But… that's _good_ news, isn't it?"

The elderly healer licked his lips and said, "Probably. Maybe." He reached into the pocket of his green robe and pulled out his own wand. Murmuring a quick incantation, he watched as the field flushed nearly black. "Good heavens."

Snape huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well? Don't mind me. The man whose health and well-being you're discussing so intimately."

Hermione continued to stare at Lofgren. "But we still have the same problem, don't we?"

"Rather," he sighed.

"What are you two blathering about?" His arms still crossed over his chest, Snape tucked his fingers into his armpits and leaned forward. "What's going on with my magic?"

"The first diagnostic image reflected your magical output," Lofgren said, recalling the image. "The cool greens and yellows show little to no energy in your spell." He twisted his hands and pulled up the second and third diagnostics side by side. "These two images represent your wand. The first shows the defensive strength it can channel, and the second the offensive strength. The red and purple heat field shows a wand capable of channeling defensive spells of uncommon strength. The nearly black heat field shows a wand capable of casting stronger offensive spells than any I've ever seen… with one notable exception: Harry Potter's phoenix feather wand."

Snape groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Lofgren, cease prattling and get to the point. I don't need smoke blown up my arse. I'm well aware of what I've lost."

Hermione cleared her throat. "Well, that's just it. You might not have lost it." She came closer to him and stretched out a hand to touch his shoulder. She licked her full lower lip. "One of the ways in which wands choose their masters is by strength. A wand that cannot direct large streams of magic would not choose a powerful wizard. Its core would burn out. A wand capable of channeling large amounts of energy would not choose a weak wizard. It wouldn't be used effectively."

Snape watched her, not daring to hope.

"Moreover, it's a well-documented phenomenon that children, as they grow in strength and experience, frequently need to purchase 'adult' wands. The wand which worked well for them as students becomes incapable of focusing their expanding energy use. Conversely, wands reject masters whose magical ability has been diminished, or in very rare cases, a wand might scale down its magnitude." Hermione paused to look him directly in the eye. "Severus, yours has done neither."

"Are you… what are you saying _exactly_, Granger?"

"I'm saying that it's likely you still have all of your magic, but are having trouble accessing it." She wiped her hands on her robes. "I'm saying that if we could just figure out what's blocking you, you could regain your power as if you'd never lost it."

"Oh." He supposed that would mean he could start brewing potions again and contribute _something_ to Hermione's expenses. "That's good then."

Hermione stared at him. "That's good? That's _good_? Four years living like a Muggle, and all you can say is 'that's good?'"

Snape cocked his head. "I'm not denying that it would be… pleasant to be able to do magic again. But…" He spread his hands. "I have been content without it. I should like to help with the finances by brewing, but I don't expect my life to change drastically should it come flooding back." A flush suddenly crawled up his neck. He could feel the heat of it spreading to his lips and cheeks, and Snape cursed himself for his inability to hide anything from this woman. "Unless you wish for me to leave once I…"

"No!" she said, interrupting him, her face earnest. "No, not that. You may stay for as long as you like. I'd _like_ it if you stayed. I mean, if _you_ want to."

He swallowed. "I… It's my home now. I have no plans to leave."

"Good," she said. "Good."

Hermione watched him carefully with her amber eyes. Snape counted his heart beats.

* * *

"Viktor is meeting me for lunch, so I'm leaving you here. Are you sure you are all right?"

"Granger, stop your fussing this instant. I can't abide clingy women. Next you'll be telling me you've arranged for a sitter." He waved her off. "Can you imagine a situation where I _wouldn't_ be happy to be left in a bookstore? There's a Floo connection I've used a dozen times before. I'll be fine getting back on my own." Flicking an imaginary piece of lint off his cuffs, he smartened up the lines of his robe before turning away from her. "I'll see you back at home tonight."

"All right then. I'll leave you be." Her voice was hesitant.

Snape ignored her, instead pretending to peruse the bookshelf in front of him. He didn't turn around again until he heard the bell above the door tinkle, indicating her egress. Sighing, he watched her walk down the street outside of the glass entrance of the bookstore. Her face was flushed from the cold, and he marveled at himself for finding her so unrelentingly lovely, even when the temperatures were low enough that her nose perpetually ran.

He'd been lying of course. There was no hell on earth worse for a bibliophile than to be surrounded by lovely, interesting books that one couldn't afford. However, he did have just enough in his pockets to purchase a bit of parchment. Nothing fancy, of course. Just five years ago, he'd have turned his nose up at the low quality foolscap that he now carefully tucked under his arm. But then, five years ago, he'd have turned his nose up at a lot of things. Granger, for one, and he'd have missed out on the truest person he'd ever met.

Tugging his cloak tighter around his shoulders and rearranging his collar so that it protected him from the cold air, Snape stepped out into the street, intent on making it to the Owl Post before returning home. He walked with care, putting one step in front of the other with deliberation. The walk to the Owlery wasn't long and nearly entirely downhill, so Snape arrived feeling well, energized even. _Good on you, old man_, he thought, chuffed.

Pulling out the foolscap and grabbing the quill magicked to remain within five feet of the post counter, Snape penned a note to his godson.

_**Draco,**_

_**Next time it would be advisable to choose a hex that you have the skill to perform wordlessly. Hearing you mutter the spell gave me enough warning that you'd never have been able to land it if had you really wanted to hit me.**_

_**Which you didn't.**_

_**Tea?**_

_**S**_

He folded it up, cursing the fact he couldn't use magic to seal it, and then paid the clerk five sickles to send it by owl. Snape regretted the expense since he truly was at Granger's financial mercy, and he had no desire to spend her money. However, until he was really sure that Draco _hadn't_ been trying to hit him—all bravado aside—he was unwilling to lead his godson to his hidey hole, or worse, to Granger's home.

The pleasant downhill walk to the Owl Post had become a trudging incline on the walk back to the bookstore, and after two blocks, Snape began puffing and felt nauseated. The street was lined with benches. He bent over, wiping a bit of snow off the seat and sank down with a grateful sigh.

This part of Wizarding London was beautiful. The street was cobbled and surrounding storefronts gleamed with pride of ownership. There were bookstores, bakeries, and restaurants perfuming the air, and Snape took a deep breath of the cool, fragrant breeze, allowing it to calm the fluttering of his heart.

Rubbing his eyes, he ignored the flustered blonde witch who'd been sitting on the other side of the bench as she pulled her full skirts closer to her legs and gathered up her parcels. When she lunged up and darted away from him, Snape didn't spare a glance. He imagined her returning home to a braw husband, kissing him on the cheek, and telling him about her near escape from Dumbledore's murderer. He didn't allow it to hurt. Hadn't he been hated his entire life? Hadn't he always suffered the slings and arrows of those who didn't understand him or his role?

No, despite his failing health, his life was better now than it had been for twenty years. He had one person who trusted him and believed in him without placing conditions on him. One person who cared what happened to him. One person… who was sitting in a restaurant across the street from him. He blinked.

Granger sat across from Victor Krum at a small, white-covered table near the window and talked animatedly. She gestured, touching him here and there—on his hand or his shoulder—as if trying to bring his attention back to whatever she was saying. But he just stared into his cup of coffee. His eyebrows, black and heavy, pulled tight across his forehead, and he sulked, lips curling down. Hermione continued to talk, gestures becoming more and more emphatic, but Krum turned and watched a curvy, red-haired waitress bend over a customer's table.

The Quidditch player's mouth softened as he watched the other woman, the not-Hermione, and Snape felt a tide of anger begin curling around his toes. Granger, lovely, sexy Granger, touched Krum's wrist again, trying to draw his eyes back to her, but the idiot gave her his shoulder, nearly turning his back on her to watch the ginger.

Snape's eyes widened as rage built, now burning a hole in his stomach.

Krum used his hand like a knife, slicing the air between them. One word from him—and based on her reaction, it was sharply spoken—and Snape saw Granger droop in her seat, closing her mouth. Even her wild curls seemed to fall flatter, and Severus felt his anger stretch and stretch and stretch until something popped wildly in his chest, like a guitar string breaking under pressure.

Krum knocked his coffee into his lap. That must be what happened, for one moment the cup was there on the table, and the next he was standing, face a furious mask, liquid staining the front of his trousers. Hermione and the redhead exchanged amused glances as the famous Quidditch player scrubbed at the placket of his trousers. It was nearly lewd, his frantic, rough strokes, and soon the redhead was openly laughing.

It was too much. Krum roared. Snape could even hear it outside the restaurant. Krum roared, and then he Disapparated illegally, right there in the middle of the crowd, sticking Granger with the bill.

Snape knew that his observing the fight between the lovers was innocent. He'd had to sit down before he fell down thanks to his blasted heart. But, Hermione wouldn't know that, and he didn't want her to think he'd been spying. What he felt for her was a _healthy _tendre. He was careful to keep it there, to stave off any adolescent, Lily-inspired tendencies before they could even gain a foothold in his mind. It would hurt him should Granger think he was obsessed, spying on her to feed anything sordid.

So, he breathed deeply and stood up, pleased to discover that he was steady on his feet. Snape turned and walked back to the bookstore, and when he reached it, he was barely winded.

* * *

_**A/N: Like it, love it, hate it, review it. Thanks for reading.**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Alphaed by Aurette. Any SpaG issues are mine. I don't own anything you recognize. It all belongs to JK Rowling... the clever, clever witch. :)**_

_**M for language. There's one bit at the end that if you squinted at it sideways, I suppose it could be considered limey.  
**_

_**Here we go, guys.**_

* * *

Chapter Four

Several days later, Hermione dropped his post through the mail slot on his front door without knocking. She then turned and walked away, reentering her house. Snape watched her throw herself into an overstuffed chair in her living room and gesture at the windows, drawing the blinds with a wandless, wordless spell.

He looked into his kitchen where a pot of her favorite tea sat steeping on the worktop. Disappointed, he crossed to where his mail lay in a dispirited pile on his welcome mat and picked it up. She hadn't been by since he'd observed her fight with Krum.

Which was fine.

Really.

It's just that he missed her. Her, Hermione, his friend. His little hidey hole had been so quiet without her baked goods and her smile and her nubby wool scarf hanging off the back of his chair. He missed finding that atrocious hair scattered all over his house. Yes, he'd decided that loneliness was having a good hiding spot without anyone to share it.

But he understood, of course. She was a woman with a life outside of tending to the invalid in her backyard.

He should feel grateful for the time she spared for him.

Crossing into the kitchen, he flicked idly through his correspondence, pausing when he saw his godson's overly-ornate script curling on fine vellum. He slammed the stack of mail down on the worktop and shoved the extra tea cup back into his cabinet.

"Fuck," he muttered. "Waste of perfectly good tea."

Snape slunk to his table, sat down, and propped his feet up on the sill of his bay window. With a twist of his thumb, he broke the wax seal on the letter from Draco and began to read. Hermione picked up his mail at the Owl Office and scanned each letter for malevolent spells before passing them along, so he was not concerned that his godson had included any nasty surprises for him.

A smile broke out on his face as he saw the salutation.

_**You flatulent cock,**_

Draco had always had a flair for the dramatic. It was one of the things Snape liked about him most. He always knew how to use it to best effect. Smoothing the creases from the letter, Snape continued to read.

_**Of course I wanted to hit you with that hex. I wanted little bits of you to splatter all over that trumped-up, frowsy-haired Muggleborn you hump around with. The only reason why I didn't was because I was completely and utterly soused, and there appeared to be three of you. I clearly chose the wrong one to hex.**_

_**No tea. I'd drink the Dark Lord's piss before I'd sit down and have a cuppa with you.**_

_**Fuck off.**_

_**Draco**_

Snape laughed, forgetting his pique over Hermione's abandonment. Malfoy wrote him back. And not only had he written, he'd called Granger a Muggleborn instead of a Mudblood.

Well.

Pulling open a drawer in his worktop, he pulled out one of the sheets of parchment he'd purchased and a clever Muggle biro. He smiled and hoped it annoyed his godson.

_**Draco,**_

_**You are in luck. A key ingredient in one of the blacker and more arcane potions I brewed for Voldemort was, in fact, the Dark Lord's urine. I've got a jar in my store room.**_

_**This Friday at noon in The Laughing Griffin? I'll bring your refreshment with me.**_

_**S**_

He sealed it with a bit of wax and the bowl of a spoon. There. Now, if only he had an owl to deliver his correspondence. Snape tapped his lips with a finger as he thought. He couldn't Apparate, and he didn't have a Floo.

Hermione had an ill-tempered pygmy owl she'd rather ironically christened "Sweet'ums." Perhaps it wouldn't go amiss if he knocked on her door and asked to borrow the bird. Or maybe he could use her Floo.

It'd be a good opportunity for him to check up on her. See how she was doing after her fight with Krum. It wasn't because he missed her. Not at all.

He walked upstairs to get his dragonhide boots, barely noticing that he managed the flight of steps with ease, and grabbed his thick wool cloak and the green cashmere scarf Granger had given him last year for Christmas. Snape bundled up and was out his front door before he could talk himself out of it.

But instead of arguing with himself, he found that the closer he got, the more resolute he became. He had a plan that involved knocking on that Slytherin green front door, and when it opened, he'd say to her, "Hermione, you've been missing from my house for entirely too long, and I haven't had even _one_ of your guilt biscuits in days, and where have you been?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. His feet crunched the snow as he got closer and closer. The wind blew vicious, freezing blasts of winter air across his exposed ears and face, causing him to try to turn his face into his insufficient collar. The dead leaves in the trees rattled as he made his way up her garden path to her back porch. The bushes he passed were all dead scraggly things that caught at the edges of his clothing, and he imagined he could feel her neighbor's eyes all over him as he left the safety of his Notice-Me-Not Charmed home.

Snape stomped up her steps and knocked decisively on her door. He paused for a moment and then knocked again.

He raised his hand to pound once more when the door opened, and the world paused on his indrawn breath.

She was radiant. Her skin glowed with health, and he eyed a small mole he'd never noticed before on her cheek. Her lips were plump and wet-looking, and his gaze zeroed in on the poke of her tongue as she licked the corner of her mouth. Was Krum coming over right then? Had he come at a bad time? Was she wearing cosmetics? She never wore cosmetics.

He stepped back, taking in her pair of sloppy, stained grey sweats and her small, worn tee shirt that – Christ, it looked soft, and it cupped her round, full breasts enticingly – but really was disgusting with yellowed sweat stains beneath the arms and a ripped collar. _Why would she go to the trouble to put on make up but not dress neatly? And her hair looked like she'd stuck her finger in an outlet… _ The answer hit him, and Snape understood.

"Why are you wearing a glamour, Hermione?"

She huffed and turned away from him, walking deeper into her house, but leaving the door ajar. Taking her up on her unspoken invitation, he stepped inside.

His eyes scanned the rooms around him. He'd seen the interior of her house from his window, but he'd never actually been inside. It felt… warmer than he'd expected. She'd painted her walls in neutral tans and beiges and her floors were a rich hardwood. Her furniture and the artwork which graced her walls were in riotous color, adding a vibrancy it would have lacked otherwise. Her couch was an apple green, and the throw pillows on it were white and yellow green and hunter and pale yellow. Her walls were covered in quirky illustrations of animals and vintage Muggle movie posters. It was warm and refreshing and very, very Granger.

"Hermione?" he called.

"Back here."

Snape walked toward her kitchen, saying, "I hope you don't mind, but I have a letter that…" He stopped, shocked. "Good God. It's like Fanny Cradock vomited Christmas Cheer all over."

Hermione scowled and bent over to pull out a tray of aggressively-colored biscuits from her oven. Snape looked away so as to avoid ogling her lovely, round bum covered in those hideous, stained trousers. Instead, he gazed at the dozens and dozens of blood red and bile green biscuits that she had cooling on wire racks. Hermione stabbed her spatula between the cooked dough and the metal trays, scraping the newest batch onto a bundle of paper toweling.

"Shut up, Snape. I felt like a bit of baking, that's all. No need to commence the Inquisition."

He picked up a fluorescent red Christmas tree and bit into it. "Tasty still, despite the dye."

"Of course it is. Dye is tasteless."

Snape struggled not to chortle as she walked into his verbal trap. "Yes, it is."

Hermione slammed the metal tray onto her cooktop and whirled to face him. "What do you want? I'm busy as you can see." Her chest was heaving, and her hair was curling around her face. Her eyes glowed with anger, and her succulent mouth was curled into an absolutely tempting sneer.

Snape shifted uncomfortably. "Why are you wearing a glamour?" He watched her shoulders stiffen, and she crossed her arm beneath her breasts. "Would you drop it, please? It's terribly disconcerting."

"Oh, who cares. Who cares anymore?" She waved her hand, dispelling her artificial appearance. Snape gasped.

"Hermione…" Her face was red and blotchy, and her eyes were puffy from tears, but it was the bruise on her cheek that held his attention. He stepped forward and carefully wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, and tilted her face to the light with his fingers. "What on earth? Did Krum do this to you? Did that bastard hit you?" He was unprepared for sheer strength of the rush of anger he experienced at the thought of Hermione being manhandled, maybe even hit.

"No, no. Not that." She pulled her chin from his hand and looked away, her lip trembling. After a pause, she stepped forward and buried her face in his lapels. His arms closed around her. "Viktor and I had a fight that day you and I Flooed to the Ministry. I gave him a few hours to cool down, and then I Apparated to his apartment. I walked in and found him shagging some blonde trollop against his kitchen counter."

"What?!"

She sighed against his wool-clad shoulder. "Yes. When his, er, partner looked over and saw me standing gape-jawed in the door, she screamed. Viktor dropped her, grabbed a kitchen towel to cover his… giblets, and again – _again _– the bastard Apparated away, leaving me to face his naked paramour with her big tits and her bruised arse." She sniffed, and it sounded very loud to Snape with her face right there, buried in his neck.

"Good god, Hermione." He rocked her slowly from side to side, amazed again at Krum's stupidity. He pushed her a few inches away and tilted her face to the light. "Then how did you get the bruise?"

"The blonde objected to my objection. Grabbed up her handbag and walloped me across the face." Hermione's eyebrows drew together. "I just left her there… Apparated away." She dashed her tears away with the back of her hand, and she looked so miserable that Snape pulled her back against his chest.

"He's a bastard. He didn't deserve your love." He tipped his face down, his cheek sliding against the top of her head, until his nose was buried in her curls.

She huffed, and her warm breath caused gooseflesh spread across his neck. "It's my pride that's hurt, not my heart," she said finally.

He tucked her more comfortably against his chest and sighed, wondering what he was doing. "I suppose that's something then."

Silence settled between them, and he welcomed it at first, but as they stood there in her warm, fragrant kitchen, their bodies pressed so tightly together, Snape became painfully aware of Hermione's chest pressing against his own as she breathed. He didn't think she was wearing a bra. He stroked a hand down her back. No, she wasn't.

Again, he ran his fingers down the line of her spine, down between her shoulder blades, down to where he imagined the little dimples above her arse to be. She went very still in his arms, her breath catching in her throat with a nearly inaudible choked noise. When she arched beneath his fingers, breasts pressing tighter against him, Snape was overcome by a tremendous and fierce longing for her, for all the things he could never have again.

She began to pull back from him, but not away. No, definitely not away. She kept her head pressed to his, so that her nose and lips dragged across the scars at his throat, along his jawline, closer and closer to the edge of his mouth. Hermione moved so slowly that each inch she covered felt electrified, her hot breath washing over his skin. The small hairs at the nape of his neck prickled and stood on end. Snape held still and waited for her, aching for her.

With every ounce of his being, he longed for the intimacy and comfort and companionship of Hermione. He wanted no barriers between them. If she desired to touch him, let there be no hesitancy. If she wanted to turn him inside out and take up residence in his skin, he wanted her to feel free to do so. She was welcome to whatever she needed.

The edges of their lips brushed, the corner of her mouth to the corner of his, and his fingers spasmed where they pressed against her hips. Snape wanted, he _burned…_

The hideous red biscuits on the cooktop burst into flames.

"Fuck!" Hermione shouted, drawing away from him and pulling her wand out of the waistband of her pants. She rushed to her tray of biscuits and waved her wand above it. "_Augamenti!_" The fire died, smothered by the streams of water, leaving a platter of burnt biscuit bits. "Oh no! I think I've charred the hood of my cooker. What on earth happened?"

"Did you leave a burner on?" He felt muffled, confused, as if he'd just woken from a long sleep. Snape crossed his arms over his chest and tried not to think about how empty they felt.

"No, of course not!" Wrapping her hand in a cloth, she moved the ruined Christmas biscuits into the sink. She turned back and waved her hand over the cooktop. "I didn't leave it on, but it is hot. The heat of the oven could be coming up through the burners, perhaps," she said, but sounded doubtful.

Snape coughed lightly as the smoke from the small fire reached him.

"Oh Christ, this can't be good for you. Go on into my living room and sit down. I'll be right there. Let me just take care of this mess."

He nodded, but couldn't help but notice Hermione's glance darting all over the kitchen, landing everywhere but on him. A queasy feeling started in the pit of his stomach. He feared they'd just changed their relationship, and he worried it might be the ruin of them. With one last glance at the set of her mouth, he turned and left her there.

* * *

Snape waited for her for thirty minutes, and when she still hadn't appeared, he stood up and walked into the kitchen.

"Hermione, if you would mail this letter for me, I'd appreciate it."

"Oh, of course. Just leave it there on the worktop." Her voice was manically cheerful, and she didn't turn around to face him.

He left feeling heartsick.

* * *

_**A/N: Like it, love it, hate it, review it. **_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Nothing from Draco. Nothing from Granger.

Make tea. Eat food. Go through the post. Read a book. Take a nap.

Still nothing from Draco. Still no sign of Granger.

Why the hell did Granger continue to drop his post through the mail slot? Would it be too difficult to come in for five minutes and drink a cup of his damned tea? He'd even deign to eat one of her bilious-looking biscuits as long as she was there, in his kitchen, watching him choke it down.

Well, he wasn't going to pine. He knew she'd never abandon him, and so he'd keep receiving his post, and she'd continue to either shuffle him off for his errands and appointments in Diagon Alley or ask one of her clodpole friends to do it. But he wasn't going to sit here and wait for her to appear, gazing out the window to catch sight of her like some lovesick schoolboy. She'd come back to him or she wouldn't.

He decided to take a walk instead. To some, it wouldn't appear to be a very promising first step, but Snape knew different. He'd never felt lonely with Hermione as his company, and so he'd never realized that between one day and the next, between one laboured breath and the next, he'd become a recluse. He'd refused to leave the safety of his Notice-Me-Not Charmed house without the company of a trustworthy witch or wizard or Potter, and Granger was the only person with whom he bothered to converse socially. He had no friends other than her; just a handful of children with whom he shared history.

And so, he dressed in his battered denims and the lumpy jumper with leather elbow patches that Hermione had knitted him for Christmas last year. It was Gryffindor red, and he'd been surprised that he liked it as much as he did. He then wrapped up in his cashmere scarf and heavy woolen jacket and took a walk.

Fuck, it was cold. But it was lovely, too. He kept his hands shoved in his pockets and watched suburbia unfurl before him, one step at a time. There was a barren beauty to the trees. The wind blew, and the dark, dry limbs clacked together with a noise like teeth chattering. Snape pushed his nose deeper in his scarf and kept going, past houses and a school and a little country church. He walked until the pavement was no longer poured concrete, but brick, and he found himself in the center of Hermione's quaint country town.

The cold was causing his chest to tighten uncomfortably, so he ducked into the public library to warm up. He loosened his scarf and looked around the one-floor building. It was charming, with exposed red brick and ancient, muted hardwood floors. The bookshelves were sturdy oak and stretched nearly all the way up to the ten foot ceiling, but they were horribly dusty, and Snape was appalled to see books _just sitting out_. Loose. Unshelved! How uncivilized.

He tucked two orphan books beneath his arm and walked to the shelving cart situated by the check out desk. He placed them neatly on the shelf, ensuring their spines were out and their covers were not bent. Three others books sat abandoned on a study table. Some careless Neanderthal had left one open, putting strain on the binding. Snape tutted and closed it, taking a moment to examine the spine before sliding it onto the shelving cart with the others. He squinted, and then took a brief moment to group the books by their categories.

Satisfied, he nodded and turned around, nearly running headfirst into a blonde-haired woman in cat's eye glasses standing behind him.

"Merlin!" he hissed, holding a hand up to his sputtering, clenching heart.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!" She reached out to pat him on the shoulder, but then pulled back, looking helpless. She wore a white plaster cast on her left arm and curled in her right were three books. "Lord, I nearly added insult to injury there."

Snape held his hand up, as he breathed deeply and waited for his heart to calm. "No, it's all right."

"You're quite pale. Do you need to sit down? A drink of water perhaps?" She pulled a chair out from beneath a reading table and ushered him into it. He could smell her lavender perfume, as she bent over to look in his face. She wore a sensible librarianish cardigan over a green dress covered in small print sunglasses.

"No, no. I'm fine. I just need to catch my breath, please." He sat and put his hands on his knees and fought to quell the roiling nausea. He loosened his scarf. Swallowing after a moment, he looked up to see her watching him with a worried, pursed look on her face. "I'm all right now."

"Oh, thank goodness!" The words rushed out of her. "I didn't mean to give you a fright. I was behind in my shelving because of… you know," she waved her cast dangerously, "and I was shocked to see someone helping out. I had to come investigate. Oh, but I'm glad you're all right."

Snape felt a glimmer of amusement tempered by annoyance at her prattling. "As am I, believe me."

She pulled another chair out and sank into it herself. "Do you mind if I sit here with you for a moment?"

He shrugged. "It's of no matter to me." He focused on his pulse, feeling it in his chest, his fingertips. "Just let me have another moment." His eyelids slid shut.

Finally, he sighed and opened his eyes to find the blonde librarian watching him with her head cocked. Her chin was propped on the fingers sticking out of her cast. "That's an awfully big scar on your neck," she said.

Snape's hand flew to his neck. He'd forgotten about it when he'd loosened his scarf earlier, and now he felt exposed. He was very conscious of the cold air curling against his bare skin.

"I've noticed," she spoke again, the overhead lights glinting on her glasses. Her green eyes were wide and guileless, and seemed to take in every inch of him. "I've noticed that people with scars like that either have very interesting stories they want to tell about them, or don't want to talk about them at all." Her head cocked the other direction. "Which are you?"

"The latter."

She nodded. "I also couldn't help but notice you were fondling my books."

"Taking proper care of a book hardly constitutes fondling."

"You were holding them so lovingly," she said.

Snape examined her, unsure if she was taking the piss. She was in her thirties perhaps, but lacked shadows in her eyes and fine lines that indicated someone who'd lived through something unspeakable. He shook his head. "Did you want to finish this yourself?" He proffered the books.

"Not really," she sighed, but took them anyway. "It takes me forever to clean up after the little heathens that come tearing through here with hands covered in chocolate and bogies." She smiled and offered her right hand. "I'm Lara Borden. I'm the librarian here."

"Severus Snape." Her fingers were slender and warm, but he couldn't help but compare them to Hermione's work-chapped hands. He dropped the handshake, uncomfortable. "It was never fondling, but I am terribly fond of books," he offered finally.

Ms. Borden laughed, and Severus felt a warmth kindle in his chest. She had a small chip in her front tooth that was charming. She crossed her arms over her chest and said, smiling, "That's a fine line, Mr. Snape. I know, also being terribly fond of books."

She walked up to the circulation desk, and he noticed a small sign advertising, "Short Term Help Wanted." He was immediately taken by the idea of applying for the job. It was, quite honestly, brilliant. It'd get him out of the house and provide him with a little human interaction since Granger had temporarily scarpered off, frightened by what had nearly happened in her kitchen. Plus it would bring in a little money so he could pay a bit toward rent and for his expenses. He'd feel like less of burden, a leech. And the short nature of the assignment would allow him to assess whether or not his health would allow him to work long term.

She narrowed her eyes at his obvious interest, looking like nothing so much as a myopic fox. "You don't happen to be looking for a poorly paying job, are you?" She gestured to the sign. "It's a temporary placement for six weeks. That's how long before the cast comes off, and I'm back up and running full steam ahead."

Feeling as if he was taking a momentous step, which perhaps he was, he said, "You know, it just so happens that I am."

"Thank god. I could really use the help."

* * *

On Friday, he'd still not heard from Draco.

He'd decided he'd still go to the Laughing Griffin and wait for his godson, because it was just like the little shite to show up without a how-do-you-do. Thursday, he'd shoved a note through Hermione's mail slot, asking if she could arrange an Apparition for him for the next day, or if he could use her Floo.

He hadn't heard from her either, but it was still early, and Snape believed that no matter what was happening between them, she was constitutionally incapable of letting someone down. So, he waited and hoped.

At eleven o'clock sharp, she knocked on his door. He opened it to see her holding a plate of biscuits with white knuckled fingers. Her smile was more of a grimace.

Snape sighed and stepped back, allowing her to walk past him into the kitchen.

"Tea?" he asked.

"No, thanks," she said. He thought she sounded nervous. "Butter biscuit? No dye in these."

"No, thank you."

Silence was a heartbeat between them. "Maybe I will take a cup," Hermione said finally.

Snape nodded and put the kettle on. He pulled out a box of tea flowers when she said to his back, "So, I was a bit of coward the other day, wasn't I?"

He fussed with the packaging so he didn't have to turn and look at her. "I have always found emotions more messy and frightening than nearly anything else I've faced." He shrugged. "Yours was just a small cowardice." Snape didn't want to give in to his own cowardice, so he turned back and sat down next to her at the kitchen table. He could smell her shampoo from a foot away. She looked beautiful in a soft red cashmere sweater and denims. He was terrified. "It stung me more that you denied our friendship this last week."

Her head jerked up. "Never! Never ever think that. I was so confused after Viktor and I… I didn't want to inflict that on you." She cleared her throat before reaching over and touching his hand. "I fancy the pants off you."

"You fancy…" Snape watched her face flush bright red, and she covered her mouth with both hands and nodded. His heart began to beat very hard, and for the first time in ages it wasn't from illness. He wondered how to get her hands away from her lips so he might kiss her mouth.

He reached out with a shaking hand to touch a curl that fell from her temple, but she pulled away, standing up to fuss with the kettle instead. Hermione removed it from the burner as it started to whistle, but ignored the tea things, choosing instead to turn back to him. "You and I have a… complicated relationship, Severus. We're woven together, you and I."

He was a man and couldn't help it. He immediately pictured them woven together naked. But he knew what she meant. "You are saying that we are interdependent."

"To an unhealthy extent, yes. Or rather, it would be an unhealthy basis for a relationship between us. You are my patient."

"You are my healer_-in-training_, Hermione." He did his best to sound like an adult and not a teenaged boy trying to get a leg over his girl.

"You are reliant on me for funds," she said.

"I've just today gotten a job at the library in town."

She looked surprised. "You did? Oh, that's marvelous! Congratulations." She reached out and rubbed his shoulder, but bit her lip. "There is one more thing, of course. It's my fault… your health issues. I broke your magic and damaged your heart with my ignorance. I can't help but feel that to get involved with you would be… taking advantage." A tear tracked down her cheek.

He pulled away from Hermione. Ah, there was the crux. No, he didn't agree with all of that bullocks about how she'd damaged him. She'd _saved_ him. He'd meant it when he told her that. "That's not the real impediment. Not for me, at least. But there is something…" He scrubbed a hand through his hair. "You cannot hear me when I say that I am all right… that I'm doing better than I have in decades. Your guilt sours… everything that could be between us. It chokes me."

She flinched and turned pale. "I can't help how I feel."

He stood and curled his fingers around the nape of her neck. He pulled her toward him and kissed her forehead. "Neither can I. Maybe when we've both… healed more." He didn't release her.

She nodded.

"Your shampoo smells nice in spite of the dubious Muggle chemicals involved in its production," he said.

Hermione either choked or chuckled, but either way she was smiling when she pulled away from him, despite the tear tracks on her cheeks. "Thanks, Snape. You're a peach."

He smiled back at her, knowing she was right about them, about everything, but his heart still hurt. "So, can you take me to the Laughing Griffin? I am trying to take care of that little problem from earlier in the week."

"You're meeting Draco? Did you want me to go with you? If he tries anything…"

"I don't. Neither do I want you hanging about outside after you drop me off."

"But…"

"No. You won't gainsay me on this, Granger."

She stared at him for a moment and then nodded. "All right."

* * *

_A/N: So there you have it. I know a lot of you are probably disappointed that they're not jumping into a relationship right away when they both feel an attraction for the other, but I can't help but think that Hermione has the right of it. It'd be pretty unhealthy in their current situation. And what's better, a quick bit of rumpy pumpy followed by dysfunction and breakup? Or a little bit of temperance followed by HEA?_

_That being said, it's with a bit of trepidation that I offer my normal challenge: Like it, love it, hate it, review it. :)  
_


	6. Chapter 6

**_A/N: __Thanks to my good friend, Aurette, who alpha read this chapter for me. That lovely woman has a keen eye and a fantastic sense of humor. Thanks for everything, A. :)_  
**

**_On to the story: I don't own anything you recognize, and I promise I'm not making a penny off of this labor of love.  
_**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

The obnoxious boy kept him waiting until 12:30. Snape entertained himself with a book he'd brought with him. He didn't read it, but he used it as a cover for watching the various patrons of the Laughing Griffin. It was a shifty establishment, located in a dark twist of Knockturn Alley, where few would take notice of a man doing his best not to be noticed, or if they did, they wouldn't object to his presence.

When Draco finally sidled up to the table, Snape didn't bother to look up. He licked his finger and turned the page of his novel.

"That's a good way to trick someone into ingesting poison. Cover the corners of the pages of their current book."

"Poison is an unreliable way to kill someone. Despite being a spy, I've always preferred a more straightforward approach to murder, personally." He sighed and looked up, quirking a half smile at his godson. "And I never, ever tried to do the deed soused. Sit down, won't you?"

While he removed his cloak and settled onto the rickety chair pulled up to the hightop table, Snape took inventory of the man. Draco looked old and tired. He had grey streaks in his platinum blond hair, and a patch covering his left eye. The edges of a livid red scar poked out of the top and bottom. His frame swam in his fine grey robes, and his fingers looked skeletal where they grasped his father's old wand cane.

"Why did you want to meet? Still trying to play mentor to this poor screw-up of a boy?" Draco used his voice like an instrument, like Lucius had. The mockery in his tone was pitch perfect, and Snape smiled, momentarily overset by nostalgia.

"Is it wrong for a man to want to see his godson?" He pulled his teacup toward him and poured in a teaspoon of sugar. "It's been ages, Draco. Maybe I missed you."

For a moment, Snape thought he saw the man's mouth soften, but it was gone before he was sure. "That doesn't seem likely, does it? Especially in light of the fact I shot off a hex at you just last week."

"It's true. Attempts to kill me do make it more difficult to renew our friendship. You should probably stop." He took a sip of his tea. It was terrible. Flipping open the lid of pot, he grimaced at the weak color.

"What if I don't want to?"

"Well then I daresay you won't. However, I'm really not convinced you wanted to hit me or Ms. Granger." He eyed up Draco's fragile-looking frame and said, "Are you planning on ordering something?"

* * *

Draco ate his bit of stodge with exquisite Pureblood table manners. Snape didn't feel the need to ape them. He'd been raised in a Muggle home—for all that his mum had been a witch—and now that he didn't have to wear the persona of a loyal Death Eater, he reverted to the manners his mum and dad had imparted to him. He could feel his godson watching him as he shuttled his mushy peas onto his fork and ate them with relish.

"So, why the patch?" he asked, uncaring if he sounded rude. They'd never worried about such petty things between them before.

"Well, as I'm sure you remember, you shot my eye out in the war." His tone was level.

"Don't exaggerate. I shouted your name to gather your attention, threw the most histrionic, brightly-colored, non-lethal hex I could think of, and you _still _dodged too late. Honestly, I thought all the years drilling with me and your father would have made it a piece of cake."

"The battlefield is very different than the dueling salon at Malfoy Manor, isn't it?"

"I suppose," Snape said doubtfully. "Besides, I was asking why you haven't had a magical eye replacement put in."

"What, and resemble Moody? Perish the thought." Draco took a sip of wine and grimaced. "I tried several models, but they all had a tendency to spin madly to catch the slightest movement. I looked like a lunatic."

"And with the eye patch, you just look like a pirate."

"Girls seem to like it well enough." He shrugged.

They ate in silence for a few moments before Draco finally threw down his fork. "This food is terrible. If I eat another bite, I think it will finish me off." He dabbed at his mouth with a paper napkin.

Snape sighed. "I'm sorry about your eye. It wasn't intentional. Believe it or not, I was trying to protect you. I knew that several of the higher ranking Death Eaters, including your dear Auntie, believed that you'd flipped sides. There were plans to pick you off during battle. I thought you'd be safer if they saw me, the ultimate traitor to the Dark Lord, hexing you."

Draco's gaze jerked to Snape's. "Merlin, Uncle. I know that."

"Then why the hex?"

"Do you actually expect me to have a rational explanation? Really?"

"Don't play the idiot boy with me. You had everyone else fooled, but I always saw through it, Draco."

"You're wrong. I was just as idiotic as everyone suspected. You just expected more from me. That's why I constantly disappointed you." He fingered the stem of his wine glass. "I appreciated that, though… that you thought so well of me." He took a drink and wrinkled his nose. "I was… so glad when I heard that you'd survived. Directly after the battle, I saw you, you know. You were laid out on the floor of the Shrieking Shack in a puddle of your own blood, and I just left you there. The thought of bringing my fingers near the gore of your throat to see if you were still breathing… horrified me. I thought to myself, 'It's all right, Draco. No one could have survived that, and even if he's alive now, there's no way he's long for this world.'" He laughed bitterly.

"Dozens of people walked by my body. Only one thought person thought to crouch down and see if I still lived."

"Granger," he sneered. "Perennial do-gooder."

"Yes, she is. I like that about her."

Draco made a gagging noise. "Really? You?"

"I'm not the same man I was. I never would have believed her sincere before, mired as I was in the weight of the war. I didn't think people like her actually existed outside of novels. She _saved_ me."

"Merlin, I don't know why I didn't see it before. You're in love with that poodle-haired Gryffindor. That's perfect," he laughed bitterly. "No wonder I haven't seen you since The Battle of Hogwarts. I thought… when you got out of hospital... I had no one left with Dad in Azkaban and Mum dead. I thought to myself that surely you would come by. Or Floo. Or fucking write. But days went by. Then months. Years. Not a single word from you."

Snape did feel ashamed. He had forgotten Draco. Still, he wasn't willing to shoulder the entire blame for their estrangement. "Why did you never write me?"

"Malfoys _don't_ beg."

"Only a Malfoy would consider that begging."

"Only you should know me well enough to understand that for a Malfoy, that _is _begging." He snorted. "But why would you write? You're tucked up playing house with the Know-It-All."

"I'll admit that I've just been… coasting from day to day. Worrying exclusively about myself." Snape reached out and tapped the back of Draco's hand. "But that bit about being a Malfoy and begging? That's a ripe load of shite. You are the only one of your family left. Whatever you decide to do is, by definition, what a Malfoy _does_."

Draco's perfect posture stiffened, and he fiddled with the clasp of his grey cloak. He cleared his throat before finally shrugging. "So, you and Granger, huh? Have you stuck it to her yet?"

"Wait, I'm new to this sort of social interaction. Is this where I flip you a rude gesture and make a lewd insinuation that I slept with your mother?" Snape asked with a tight smile.

"I'd prefer you didn't, actually."

"Well then." The older man took another sip of tea.

Draco flipped his hand over to look at his bare arm. "Ah, look at my wrist. As lovely as this has been, it's time I was going, I think." He stood and smoothed his robes, tucking his father's cane over his arm as he did so. He didn't look at his godfather as he said, "Would you… shall we meet again, then?"

"I'd like that. I don't have a Floo presently, so just send me an owl care of Hermione." Snape was sincere. His godson was obnoxious and dangerous and troubled, and Snape cared very much for him.

Draco's face softened, and he gave the older man a real smile… the first one Snape had seen since before the start of the second war. The blond put a vial on the table and pushed it over with two fingers. "You might want to take this palliative sooner rather than later." He hesitated. "It wouldn't have killed you, but it wouldn't have felt very nice."

"No need. I tasted the _Laureate Differenis_ in my tea, and it won't affect me. I built up an immunity to it during my years at Hogwarts. It was the active ingredient in Weasley's Skiving Snack Boxes, you know."

The younger man smiled. "I never was able to get the jump on you, Uncle." As he turned to walk away, he hesitated and said, "I've missed you, you know."

"I've missed you, as well."

And then Draco was gone. Snape sighed and resigned himself to using the Griffin's Floo to get home.

* * *

He'd worked in the library for a week, and he had to admit that he loved it. It was quiet, and he liked the routine. There was absolutely zero stress. And, if he were honest, he quite liked the fluffy little librarian. She didn't seem to expect anything from him other than a quick hello, and then to shelve some books. Her impression of him wasn't colored by anything positive or negative that she might know of his past. He also liked that she didn't micro-manage him to death… something which both of his previous bosses literally tried to do.

He pushed the bookcart around the one-floor library, enjoying the oversized mullioned windows that showed the main street in Hermione's little town. He supposed it was his little town now, too. There was a dusting of frost on the grass outside, and the edges of the glass were fogged up. Snape parked the cart where he could feel the bright daylight as he organized the books into categories.

After a few minutes, he rolled on and began shelving. It took him a few hours before the cart was empty, and when he was done, he looked around and noticed that there were already more books scattered around the reading tables. He shelved those, too, before realizing he was starving and in need of a sit down.

Still, he was chuffed that he hadn't needed to rest. He couldn't help but notice that in the past week or two he'd been feeling a lot better. He prodded at his magic again, and was disappointed to see that it was still inaccessible to him. However, the texture of it was different. It felt more resilient, and when he pushed on it, he imagined that it sprang back, pressing against his mind.

Ms. Borden was sitting at the circulation desk eating a bag of crisps. A sandwich wrapped in waxed paper sat in front of her. "Mr. Snape! Would you like to share lunch with me?"

He hesitated, and he knew she saw it, but her smile didn't waver.

"Yes, of course," he said, unsure if it was a good idea. "Let me fetch my bag."

They sat in companionable silence that he did not hate. He slowly chewed his ham and cheese sandwich while she finished off her bag of crisps. Feeling mellow, he remarked, "The librarian at my old school would have had my head were I to eat in her library."

She shrugged. "Just be careful to wash your hands, and don't drink anything near the computers. Honestly, before you, I was the only person in here most of the time. It was either eat at the desk, or don't eat at all, and the latter was never an option. Trust me. You wouldn't like me if I were hungry."

He unwrapped the baggy he'd brought filled with the last of Hermione's butter biscuits and pushed it toward her. "Would you like one? They're homemade."

She nibbled happily, holding the biscuit with both hands, and Snape finally realized of whom she reminded him. With her cat's eye glasses and blonde hair and mellow chirpiness, Ms Borden resembled a Muggle Luna Lovegood.

She blinked up at him, her eyes appearing overlarge in her glasses. "Have I got something on my nose?"

"No, sorry. My mind was wandering."

The little librarian blushed fiercely. "I'm not much of a talker really. I prefer to read or sit quietly and watch the people on the street outside. I'm sure I'm a very dull lunch companion."

"On the contrary, Ms. Borden. I find it… restful. And truthfully, I'm not much of a talker either." He offered her another butter biscuit.

She shook her head and looked down at her hands. "Thank you. And you can call me Lara." She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and a bit of pink crept back up her neck.

_Well_. Snape ate a biscuit and tried to stop comparing her to other women.

* * *

**_A/N: Well, I hope the interaction with Draco lived up to your expectations. He's broken, but not irredeemable, I hope. We'll have to see._**

**_Like it, love it, hate it, review it.  
_**


	7. Chapter 7

**_A/N: I apologize for the delay! I had a number of things trip me up... some good, some bad. Hurricane Sandy and catching the plague? Of the bad. In very good news, an original fiction piece I wrote came back for edits from the publisher, so I spent a week polishing that one up, and it's due to come out at the end of November. I'm very excited, because the magazine is a Hugo award winner, and it's been nominated for multiple World Fantasy Awards. Party! If you're interested in picking up a copy, PM me, and I'll give you the deets._  
**

**_Thanks, as always, to the inestimable Aurette, a very good friend and a very good writer. I heart you, grrl. Thank you for the Ninnies!  
_**

**_I don't own anything you recognize. The "Ninnies" are Aurettes invention, and the world and characters belong to JK Rowling, the lucky lady.  
_**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Snape lay in bed and thought about Ms. Borden's blush. He thought about that flush of pink that slipped up her long neck, and he thought about the feel of Hermione's breaths panting across his lips as they stood chest to chest in her kitchen.

He thought about Ms. Borden's guileless green eyes and the flare of Hermione's hips.

He rolled over onto his stomach and then reached down to adjust his erection, grimacing.

Ms. Borden's friendly chirpiness versus Hermione's sterling honor. It wasn't a fair comparison. He didn't _know_ the librarian like he knew the Gryffindor.

His heart was engaged. It would be futile to deny it. But would he spend another decade pining for someone who couldn't or wouldn't be with him? He'd spent the last four years trying to move away from his masochistic tendencies, and being alone was painful to him.

He could ask Ms. Borden to have tea with him. It was a small thing. If it went well, he'd have a bit of companionship. If not, well, the job at the library was only a temporary thing. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Of course, nothing ventured, nothing lost either.

Despite the pit in his stomach at the thought of possibly losing Hermione's friendship, he forced himself to relax and coasted toward sleep. He'd just broken the surface of it, when a shout pulled him out of the darkness.

"HERMIONE!" Anguish colored the voice. As did a Bulgarian accent. "HERMY!" Snape winced at the dreadful nickname. There was a massive racket as Krum pounded on the door across the yard. "PLEASE OPEN UP."

A dog started barking across the street, and Snape resigned himself to getting out of his warm bed. She wasn't home tonight, and Gods only knew how long Krum would cry into his cornflakes, waking up neighbors left and right. Hermione was having a 'girls' night' with Millicent Bullstrode and Luna Lovegood. After the Final Battle, the three became fast friends after volunteering to help tend the wounded. Since then, they'd had a standing date every Wednesday night at the Three Broomsticks. He shuddered to think about the destruction the three could wreak if they put their minds to it.

"Niiiinny!" the drunken-sounding bugger howled. The neighbor's dog howled back.

Snape threw his feet over the side of the bed and scrubbed his face. He grabbed the cotton tee from the bed post where he'd thrown it earlier and pulled it over his bare chest. He left his pajama shorts alone. He figured Krum could deal with seeing a skinny, middle-aged wizard in his sleep bottoms, unappetizing as his hairy, pale legs were.

He tromped down the narrow staircase in his slippers and scuffed over to the door, slipping on his jumper and jacket after picking them up off his hook. He opened the door just in time to watch the Quidditch player start crying and slide down to sit on Hermione's welcome mat.

"Krum, she's not home. Go away!" he hissed.

"I cannot. I vill not go until I haff told my Ninny I am sorry for vhat I did." Gravity seemed too much for the Quidditch player, and he slumped sideways onto an elbow. Surprise crossed his face. "I think the door moved. Maybe she is home?"

"No, you're just sotted," he said, attempting to be kind.

Krum nodded slowly as if afraid his head would topple off. "I am. I became sotted vhen I became sad."

"Which was when exactly?"

"Several veeks ago."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't suppose you're capable of Apparition, Mr. Krum?"

He nodded his head yes and slouched further toward the ground, before finally shaking his head no. "I do not think so."

Severus considered leaving the arse out in the cold. However, he worried about the legal repercussions for Hermione should such a well-known personage should expire from hypothermia on her doorstep so soon after their recent breakup. He sighed. There was nothing for it, then. "I'm not capable of carrying you, Mr. Krum, and you know I have no magic. You'll have to move under your own power, although I'll try to help." He saw the younger man blink up at him. His eyes blinked separately. "Mr. Krum, are you capable of walking back to my cottage?"

"Yesh, Professor." Gamely, Hermione's ex-boyfriend grasped at low-hanging branches on a nearby bush outside of her front door. Denuding the plant vigorously, he scrabbled to his knees before tangling himself in higher branches and pulling himself to his feet.

He was a swaying, scraggly mess, his clothes untucked and bits of leaves in his hair.

Snape picked up the man's left arm and tucked his right shoulder into Krum's armpit. "Now, _walk_."

It started relatively well, actually. The younger man could support his own weight and just needed a bit of guidance as to direction. However, the closer they got to the door, the more of the athlete's fifteen stone slumped onto Snape. His elephantine feet (_Showily large_, Snape fumed) began to drag until Krum's attempts to walk became more hindrance than help.

Snape started to pant. When that was insufficient, he started to sweat. When his heart began pounding, he considered dropping Krum, but the other man had his hands fisted in Snape's jacket. If only the fucking idiot with his enormous fucking feet were lighter, maybe he'd have actually made it to the door. They wouldn't be on the verge of sprawling on the ground. He wouldn't feel as if his heart were about to burst. If he were just _lighter..._

And then it happened again. Something popped beneath his sternum, and the leaden idiot was lighter. Much lighter. And Snape felt better. Much better. He could breathe again, and his sweat cooled and dried on his skin. He hiked Krum higher against his hip and dragged him the rest of the way into his house.

* * *

Snape stood on his doorstep breathing in the cold night air and admiring the stars when Hermione finally Apparated back to her house.

"I've got a package for you in my house," he called to her.

She turned to face him, hand still on her door handle. "Severus? What on earth are you still doing up at one o'clock in the morning?" Her eyes widened. "And wearing shorts in this cold?"

He crooked a finger at her. "Come get your package."

She looked at his bare legs and blushed. "Are you having me on? I thought we talked about this."

"Your ex-boyfriend is snoring on my divan, and I want him gone. I'd like it if you came to collect him." He turned and went into his house, trusting that she'd follow him. He hadn't missed Hermione's blush or the way she'd misinterpreted his request, but they could talk about that when he had one less drunken prat on his hands.

"Oh, Viktor," she sighed behind him. Krum was sprawled on his belly on Snape's divan, an arm and a leg dangling off, drool puddling on the cushion beneath his head. At the sound of her voice, the Quidditch player's eyes fluttered, and he smacked his lips.

"Ninny? Is that you?" He turned over and pushed himself up. "Vhere haff you been? Have you another man?"

Hermione's eyes flashed to Snape for a split second before she looked back at Krum. Snape's heart grew three sizes. She snapped, "Not that it's _any_ of your business, but I was out with the girls."

"Ninny," he began earnestly and reached out to grab her hand. "Ninny, I am sorry for cheating on you with that other voman. I vas angry."

Hermione pulled her hand away. "Viktor, I won't talk about this with you when you're drunk. I deserve better, and I'm done accepting less."

"But you vill talk vit me? Please? Give me a chance to make this right."

"Viktor, you can't make this right. Everything about this was wrong. However, I will hear what you have to say," she held up a finger when he took a breath to interrupt, "but not now. Not when you're drunk, and not when it's the middle of the night, and we're standing in my… in my friend's house."

Snape's heart stuttered, and he wondered what she'd wanted to say.

"C'mon, you big idiot." She reached out and hauled him up, stumbling when he was far lighter than she expected. "What on earth?"

Snape reached out to steady her and said, "Yes, I'll need to talk to you about that when you have the time."

Hermione looked at him, her brown eyes enormous. "Did you do that?"

His eyes coasted over her slightly parted lips. He wanted to kiss that hopeful look off her face. "I did, but I couldn't cast a Finite to end it."

"Would it be ridiculous if I asked if I could come back tonight after I drop Viktor off?"

He smiled. "I'll make a pot of tea."

* * *

He was sitting at his table when Hermione blew into his kitchen like a hurricane, shedding her scarf and jacket on the worktop. "Unbelievable," she said. "Do you know, he had a _different_ blonde tucked up naked in his bed while he was out disturbing my neighbors in the middle of the night?"

Snape shrugged, disinterested. "Did you expect different? He's already proven to be an arse. Also, you've been broken up for several weeks now."

"It's the principle of the thing," she sniffed.

Her heart wasn't really in the protest, he could tell. Indeed, her eyes were glowing with barely suppressed joy as she pulled out the chair next to his. He pushed the teapot and an empty cup over to her. "Now, tell me everything. What _happened_, Severus?"

"Krum was too heavy, and he wouldn't let go. I was trying to get him inside, but my heart was beating so hard. I kept saying to myself, '_If only he were lighter…_,' and then suddenly, he was." He folded his hands carefully on the table. "Hermione, I think I've been casting accidental magic for several weeks now."

She sat back and examined his face in silence as she sipped her tea. Suddenly, she sat up. "The kitchen. The fire on the cooker."

Snape thanked his years as a spy which kept his face impassive. Otherwise, he knew he would be blushing. "Among others."

She nodded, and he watched her lick her lips. She had on a rosy lip gloss that made her mouth look wet and inviting.

"There's more, I think. I think that I've become healthier, as well. I can work longer and harder without resting. I didn't fall under Krum's weight. I can walk up and down my steps without panting." He ran a hand through his hair. "I just feel so much better."

She stared at him, glowing. "Gods, I don't know how I didn't notice how much healthier you've been looking. You've lost the yellow tint to your skin. I… I suppose I've been trying so hard _not _to look at you, I missed it."

He looked away. "It's all supposition right now, though. I'll have to get in to St. Mungo's and have Lofgren run some tests on me before we know anything for sure."

Hermione stood up and rubbed her face. "Good lord, I'm tired. I'll send an owl to Lofgren after I wake up in the morning. I'm to bed." She slid into her jacket and reached behind her neck to untuck her hair from her collar. She didn't bother wrapping the scarf; she just threw it over her shoulder.

Snape walked her to the door. When she stepped out onto his front step, she turned to face him, and he couldn't help but to reach out and pull her collar up, tucking it around her cheeks. He dragged a finger down her jaw and touched the corner of her mouth. Her lips parted, and she leaned toward him. "We can't. It's not good for us right now," Hermione whispered, but she kept leaning toward him, closer and closer and closer.

When their mouths were a few inches apart, he panicked, feeling they were about to lose their resolve, that he was about to lose his plan to stand up on his own two feet. It could ruin everything. So he mumbled, "I'm going to ask a female co-worker to have tea. Like a date."

Hermione reared back, the slumberous look in her eyes gone. "Oh. Oh. Well, that's…" She nodded. "Yes, that's wonderful, Snape. Good on you." She pulled back and stumbled off the step before collecting her dignity and straightening herself. "I am sad for me, but happy for you, Severus." The smile she gave him was not a steady thing at all. "It's enough for now. I promise."

He watched her walk away from him.

* * *

**_A/N: Sorry, guys. They have to hurt and get better before they can get together! I know it sucks, but for a healthy relationship, they have to grow into their own, or they'll have a twisted, co-dependent shadow of what they COULD have had. And (spoiler alert) I don't write non-HEAs. Soooo...  
_**

**_Like it, love it, hate it, review it!  
_**


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